


The Law of Conservation

by vl19scriptfic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel
Genre: Gen, and a new memorial for the fallen members of shield, better safe than sorry, but i'm really happy with how it turned out, featuring 10 year old melinda, hence the lincoln mentions, jewelry shopping, plus bus kids because you know me and bus kids, refs to other people but those are the only appearances, sort of, this was meant to be one scene and ended up hell knows what, trigger warning for suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8839990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vl19scriptfic/pseuds/vl19scriptfic
Summary: “Nothing can be created or destroyed,” he said, and Melinda listened. “Only changed. But everything remains, somehow. It’s called the Law of Conservation of Mass.” “The Law of Conservation of Mass,” Melinda repeated, sounding out the words with an awkward, tipping rhythm. “This moth has always been part of the universe,” her father said as he set the leaf bearing the dead creature afloat on the nearby stream. It bobbed away, leaping over the stones and twigs in a final ritualistic dance, with not an ounce of frailty in sight. “And it always will be.” “Will you and I be?” Melinda asked, curiosity edging out her anxiety. “I think we come from stars,” her father said with a smile. “And I think we go back to them one day.” Melinda’s eyes brightened and she stood, the gears in her tiny mind whirring, equal parts thrilled by the idea of becoming a star and astonished at the notion that a star could be so human as to have anything remotely in common with her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> except for flashbacks, this is set between episodes 7 and 8 of season four. Coulson, Robbie and Fitz are back from ghost-land, but the final showdown with Eli is still to come. May is still May (not an LMD), and Quake hasn't been '''revealed''' as an undercover agent yet. some things don't quite fit with canon but *shrugs* if it was canon it wouldn't be fanfiction 
> 
> update: user marvelthismarvelthat saved my ass and showed me how to do italics!!!

_Before everything, there was a star. And that star became many stars, and those stars became many more stars, and all of those stars loved one another with everything they had. Different colored loves, shining under different colored lights, nothing quite looking like anything else but connected nonetheless. Some stars died and some stars opened their eyes for the first time and some stars held onto other stars so tightly they fused together. Some stars bore other stars on their backs like the great Atlas, and some stars carried other stars in the palms of their hands. Stars are not all made the same, but they are all made of the same thing. We are all made of the same thing. To be is not to be created or destroyed, but to be changed, and to live with change. And everything remains in some way, if not always in the same way. The journey is not from beginning to end, but rather from star to star._

*****

(years ago)

“It’s dead, Papa,” Melinda said, glancing forlornly at the broken-winged moth resting in her palm. “I didn’t mean to. I tried to be careful.”

Melinda’s father bent down to his knee, taking Melinda’s cupped hands in his.

“Where does it go now?” Melinda asked, fixing her widened eyes on her father. “In the ground? What happens now?”

“Melinda, do you know what matter is?”

“It’s all around us,” Melinda said proudly, lifting her chest as she recited what she’d so carefully taken to mind and heart. “Matter is everything in this world. You and me too.”

Melinda’s father smiled as he gently lifted the moth from his daughter’s hands. “That’s right,” he said, placing the moth onto a leaf. “Do you know what makes matter so special?”

Melinda’s brows furrowed. She shook her head, puzzled.

“Matter is, always,” her father said, looking right at her. “It can be a tree, or a bird, or a butterfly or a stone. Or blood in your heart and your veins.” He tapped his knuckles once against his chest, right above his heart. Melinda copied.

“Nothing can be created or destroyed,” he said, and Melinda listened. “Only changed. But everything remains, somehow. It’s called the Law of Conservation of Mass.”

“The Law of Conservation of Mass,” Melinda repeated, sounding out the words with an awkward, tipping rhythm.

“This moth has always been part of the universe,” her father said as he set the leaf bearing the dead creature afloat on the nearby stream. It bobbed away, leaping over the stones and twigs in a final ritualistic dance, with not an ounce of frailty in sight. “And it always will be.”

“Will you and I be?” Melinda asked, curiosity edging out her anxiety.

“I think we come from stars,” her father said with a smile. “And I think we go back to them one day.”

Melinda’s eyes brightened and she stood, the gears in her tiny mind whirring, equal parts thrilled by the idea of becoming a star and astonished at the notion that a star could be so human as to have anything remotely in common with her.

*****

(now)

“You’ve discovered my hiding spot,” Daisy said, glancing up from her laptop at May as her mentor sat exhaustedly down on a nearby supply crate. The empty quinjet wasn’t quiet by normal standards, but it was certainly quieter than anywhere else on the base right now.

“I was going to say I’m impressed,” May said. “You look like you’ve managed to find the only spot on base that isn’t swarming with politicians.”

Daisy’s eyebrows quirked up. “Well that does explain the buzz out there. What’s going on? Director throwing a party?”

May grimaced. “I wish. But they’ve just been hanging around all day. Mace likes giving tours.”

Daisy clicked her laptop shut and set it aside. “Why are they really here?”

May looked up in surprise. Hadn’t Daisy heard any of the day’s chatter about the memorial? She’d assumed, she realized, that Daisy had tucked herself away up here to hide her grief.

“You didn’t hear? I thought-“

Daisy shook her head. “Nah, I’ve been up here ever since I heard the first jet coming in. You know. Bad publicity and all that.”

“Understandable,” May said, shrugging a shoulder in agreement. Given the circumstances, she was glad she was the one to break the news to Daisy. “But you should know.”

“Know what?”

“The President and his ensemble are here for the unveiling of the new Wall of Valor. There hasn’t been one since the Hydra collapse. Now that we’re out of the shadows, Mace figured it was time.”

May’s heart stung at the look Daisy gave her; it was half grief like May had expected, and half of something that looked curiously like hope.

“Does he-“ Daisy broke off, her voice cracking, but her eyes still held a question, and May still had an answer.

“Of course,” May said. Softness crept into her voice; she was surprised at how much it felt as though a weight had been lifted from her chest, if only slightly.

Tears sparked in Daisy’s eyes as May continued. “There’s a ceremony. With the unveiling. They’re even televising it. I’m supposed to be there. Everyone is.”

Daisy twisted her fingers together in her lap. May recognized with an all-too familiar pang the way Daisy was trying to shrink herself, to condense all of the steel-tipped needles of grief and self-blame into one knotted ball inside of her.

“Guess I can’t,” Daisy said, a bitter edge to her voice. It was only May’s experience that kept her from assuming it was directed at her. “Too exposed and all. Quake’s sort of a fugitive. At best she’s a topic of public interest. That might be even more dangerous.”

“You might be right,” May agreed.

She paused, and the air buzzed with only the indistinguishable chatter from below.

“You could sneak in,” May suggested. “Hide in some corner where there aren’t any cameras. I won’t say anything.”

The edge of Daisy’s mouth quirked up into a tiny smile, and May had to fight the urge to smile too.

“Thanks, but it’s too risky,” Daisy said, and May heard the heavy cadence of grief edge back into her voice. “At best I’d be in the way.”

May’s heart leapt with sadness, only some of it her own. She stood from her seat on the supply crate and knelt gently down next to Daisy. The quinjet was unusually cold, and Daisy’s arms were covered in goose bumps.

“You’re not in the way,” May said softly, and she heard Daisy draw a tiny breath inward as though May’s words had been a pinprick.

Daisy knotted her fingers together the exact same way May still sometimes did, May realized. It was a familiar tactic. Lock your thumbs together, twist until it hurts, and try to make the pain more important than anything else. May still felt the ache. It would seep into her from time to time, the pure strain of isolation; the flooding, drowning thrum of staring down the people you cared about and separating their lives from yours. It was only habit now. But it was a hard habit to break. She’d always seen herself in Daisy, from the moment the girl had first walked up the ramp of their base on a day that now felt like eons ago. She just hadn’t ever expected to see the after rather than the before.

Perhaps their pains didn’t match exactly, but they came from the same place.

_Nothing is ever created or destroyed. Only changed; only moved._

“You are not in the way,” May repeated, more firmly this time, if only to keep her voice from cracking. It meant so, so much more than just the ceremony. “I promise, Daisy, you’re not in the way.”

Daisy bit her lip and May recognized the tiniest nod, so tiny that almost anyone would have missed it. Almost.

“I know you’re still dealing with everything that happened before you left,” May pressed on, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of the responsibility in her next words. She wasn’t used to this. Speech was often a clumsy, loaded thing. It was easier to shut yourself off without it. But she couldn’t shut herself off now. Not anymore. Because Daisy was on the verge of doing the same.

Daisy pulled her arms in close to her chest, steeling herself against a shiver. May picked up the jacket wadded up next to her.

“If when this is all over,” May said slowly, “you think the best thing for you is walking out of that door and never looking back, I won’t stop you.”

Daisy blinked in surprise at her mentor’s words. “You won’t?”

May shook her head. “If you really think that’s what you need. If it’s what’s going to help you get better.”

“But?”

“But,” May continued, “don’t do it if you’re punishing yourself. You don’t deserve that.”

May held the jacket out to Daisy. Slowly Daisy took it and pulled it around her shoulders.

“What if I can’t convince myself I don’t deserve it?” Daisy said, her voice so soft May could barely hear it over the faraway din of the base below.

“It’s not an easy thing to do,” May said grudgingly, glancing at her hands. “Takes work. Time. Trust.” It wasn’t an accident that when she said the word ‘trust’, a certain battle-worn former director’s face appeared in her mind.

“But you’re saying it can be done?”

Maybe the real reason for the tightness in May’s throat was the hope in Daisy’s voice; somehow this world hadn’t quite managed to strip her of that. Somehow she’d fought to keep the tiniest ounce of what May knew she’d been made of since the beginning.

_Everything remains in some way._

“Yes,” May said, and whatever filled her chest in that moment didn’t quite feel like loss. Not anymore. “It can be done.”

Daisy’s watch beeped an alarm. 6:00.

“Hey, don’t you have to-“ Daisy gestured towards the bay door, below which the president and his escort team were doubtlessly gathering to board their jet.

May shook her head, and Daisy blinked in surprise.

“No,” May said, leaning back against the cold metal beam. “I’m gonna wait for you. We’ll go after everyone’s cleared out. No cameras or reporters.”

“I-“ Daisy broke off, only glancing at May for a mere second before reverting her gaze back down to her hands.

“You would do that?” Daisy finally asked, and tiny pins of emotion danced a stinging tarantella inside of May’s throat at the hint of disbelief in Daisy’s voice. She bit her lip to keep them at bay. Guilt had its own unique venom, tasteless and deadly.

“Of course,” she managed to answer before her voice caught. The most work she’d ever had to do, she thought, was the effort she’d put into fashioning herself a skin of stone. Taking every punch, dealing tougher hits back, and never letting anyone see through the cracks. But people saw through them anyway.

May cleared her throat, set her shoulders and stood. There was still work to be done.

“This hiding spot’s a bust,” May griped, unable to keep the edge of a smile out of her voice. And maybe she didn’t even want to. “They’re taking this jet for a flyover at the ceremony. We’ve got to bail.”

“Going behind the Director’s back?” Daisy asked with a half-grin. “Feels like old times.”

May rolled her eyes. “Your bunk’s still empty. Crash in there for a bit, if you feel like it. I’ll come get you when it’s time to go.”

What May didn’t say was this – that Daisy’s bunk was untouched because one day, nearly a month after Mace had been appointed Director, a crowd of new agents and assets had flooded onto the base. Bunks were grabbed left and right, Mace had a phone tucked up under his ear the entire time, and when an unassuming young agent had tried to nudge open the door to Daisy’s bunk, he’d found it blocked by Fitz and Jemma.

“You’re not taking this one,” Fitz had firmly asserted, and Jemma’s wordless glare was more than enough to make the new agent jump out of his skin. Weeks later and the bunk door had remained shut, its contents undisturbed, as if clearing it out would have meant Daisy was gone forever.

“Sounds good,” Daisy said softly, and May wondered as her heart jumped into her throat how much time had passed since she’d stopped imagining that bunk as anything other than empty.

*****

(months ago)

“Jemma, Jemma, look-“

Jemma glanced over at her boyfriend and pressed a hand to her mouth to stop herself from bursting into audible giggles in the middle of the store. Fitz had picked up a scarf, a stuffed monkey with Velcro paws and a panda travel pillow and looped all of them around his neck. He could have been, if not for the stubble on his cheeks, a remarkably tall pre-teenager.

“Fitz,” Jemma laughed, desperately trying to keep from drawing too much attention. “Fitz, stop that. We’re supposed to be-“

“Scouting for a stakeout spot. Yes, I know,” Fitz tacked on, unwinding the monkey from his neck and setting it back on the display. Jemma yanked off the scarf rather unceremoniously, and the pillow tumbled back into its basket. “But what the hell are we doing in a gift shop?”

“Trust me,” Jemma said, pursing her lips at Fitz’s uneven collar. “The Director has a plan. There’s a direct line of sight from here to the rendezvous point, and the window displays make it incredibly difficult for anyone outside more than twenty feet away to spot anyone specific inside the store. It’s like a built in little spy hidey-hole.”

Fitz couldn’t help but crack a smile at how excited she sounded. Despite the mysterious air of her new standing with the Director, there were days when it still felt like they were taking their first step onto the jet as part of Fury’s new mobile team. There were days when it felt as though everything was still just beginning. Almost.

“Fitz, look,” Jemma said, and Fitz followed her gaze to the glass jewelry case Jemma was running a gentle finger along. Jemma tapped the glass right above the spot where a tiny necklace was tucked inside a little silver box. It was small enough to miss as easily as breathing if you weren’t looking for it. The chain was silver, smooth and looping, and in the middle hung a pendant in the shape of a delicate daisy. It peeked over the side of the box, swinging only minutely in the wake of Jemma’s disturbance.

“Daisy would love that,” Fitz said softly, because he knew it was exactly what Jemma was thinking, and he knew there was nothing else he could say that wouldn’t reopen a world of hurt. The truth of Daisy’s absence still dug its claws into each one of them every day, necessary as it was to press on.

“Yeah, she would,” Jemma said, and she laced her fingers through Fitz’s. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Should we get it for her?” Fitz asked.

“Do you think we should?” Jemma turned to face Fitz, searching his expression for an answer to any of the uncertainty in her own. “I can’t tell if it’s… if it’s wrong to cling. To the hope that she might… but if she does, then I know she’d-“

Jemma’s voice finally sputtered to a halt. She worried a silent finger along the rounded edge of the glass.

“I think I know what you mean,” Fitz said softly, tightening his grip on her fingers to let her know he understood. The silent language they spoke with their hands had evolved gracefully over the years, syllables and phrases encoded in taps of fingertips and brushes of a thumb, but when the time was right, the basics spoke louder than all the rest combined. “Just in case.”

“Just in case she comes home,” Jemma finished, and Fitz could tell it had taken a type of bravery beyond measure for her to complete that sentence. He knew he felt a precipice under his feet brought on by just the thought.

“What if she doesn’t think she has a home with us anymore?” Fitz nearly whispered.

Jemma drew in a sharp breath. Even as her eyes misted over, her voice stayed true and firm. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we tell her that she does.”

Hours later, when Jemma and Fitz placed the little silver box right in the center of Daisy’s bed, they were the first people to step inside of Daisy’s bunk since the day she’d disappeared.

*****

(now)

 _It’s almost like no time has passed at all_ , Daisy thought as she stood in the doorway of her bedroom. _Like it could be the day after I left._

Of course, the scars on her body told a different story. She’d quite literally mapped the past months onto her skin and bones; she’d threatened to break herself apart from the inside. She’d been capable of it. She still was. She’d wondered, often and sometimes even aloud, what it would be like not to exist anymore. To be part of the past rather than the present. And then she’d find herself wondering if maybe that was already true.

But it wasn’t.

Daisy brushed her fingers over the little silver box on her bed before picking it up; it weighed almost nothing. She pushed the lid back, and her breath caught in her throat.

It wasn’t that the tiny daisy pendant was so delicate you could see the curves of each individual petal, or that the little yellow stone in the center somehow caught the tiny sliver of light cast in from the hallway outside.

Instead it was the folded note tucked underneath the box, signed with smooth silvery ink.

 _Dearest Daisy,_  
_Fitz and I found this little gem in a gift shop during, believe it or not, a stakeout. We both immediately thought of you. I can’t say it’s been easy – doing all of this without you. It’s different around here. It’s lonelier sometimes. I’ve noticed Fitz and myself both glancing over our shoulders to tell you something before we realize you aren’t there. Perhaps it’ll get easier with time. And if you’re reading this, then that has to mean you’re back. I can only write this to convey how genuinely we all hope you’re back for good. And maybe you’ll never see this. But if you do, know that we love you and we’ve missed you terribly. You should know that Shield is different now, and that there’s no going back. But you’ll always have a home with us, wherever we are. Also, Fitz is pestering me to let you know that he’s sitting next to me as I write this, and I feel the need to tell you that the only reason I wouldn’t let him write is because he used my last silver gel pen as a part of his new remote-controlled droid. I’m still upset with him._  
_May all be well (or at least a start),_  
_Jemma and Fitz_

Daisy’s eyes stung, and her vision blurred with tears. Jemma had time-stamped the letter, and it read over two months ago. This wasn’t the day after she’d left. She’d lost time with all of them, and she’d never be able to get that back. Hourglasses drained to graveyards, burying people and memories and dreams; Lincoln, Trip, Cal, Jiaying – so many people lay under the sand. How close had things come to her walking through these doors to find May gone too? Coulson? Mack? Fitz and Jemma? Even Bobbi and Hunter, wherever the hell they were – what was stopping them from joining the steadfast, weary ranks of people Daisy hadn’t ever gotten to say goodbye to?

Jemma still signed her name the exact same way as she had on the first day they’d taken off together as a team, right down to the loop at the end of the ‘J’ and the little twirling design she etched underneath it. It was silly, Daisy thought, that noticing this felt like the universe tipping its hand in her favor. Telling her that not to give up quite yet.

_Flowers grow back. Nothing is gone forever._

Daisy brushed her palm across the thin veneer of dust collected on her mirror. The cut on her lip was starting to heal, the bruise on her collarbone was nearly gone and the circles under her eyes were just starting to fade.

Maybe she didn’t want to carry every ounce of this weight anymore. Maybe there was a way for her to convince herself she didn’t truly deserve it. May had opened up to her earlier. A year ago, Daisy would never have anticipated that. The woman who had taught her how to fight and shoot had tried, in her own way, to teach Daisy that peace with herself wasn’t beyond reach.

Maybe Daisy believed her. Maybe that mattered more than anything else. Maybe she deserved a chance to find out.

Daisy unlatched the clasp of the layered silver chain she wore around her neck. Its links clattered against one another, still cold to the touch despite having been resting against warm skin for hours before. Its absence felt strange after so long spent with those metal loops pressing against her collar. But ‘strange’ was as far as things got. She didn’t miss the weight of it.

And when she fasted the tiny clasp of the daisy necklace beneath her hair, the little silver flower hung perfectly in the hollow of her throat. It might as well have been made just for her.

Rest was tempting, as tempting as it had been on the day she left when she’d made the choice to walk out the door instead of letting herself collapse onto the bed and waiting to sink into whatever nothingness existed beneath the superficial layers of a dream. Now she could choose again. The world was giving her a re-roll, and those didn’t come often. Bruises, soft pillows, blankets, fractured bones, there, here. Six sides of a die. She could roll again, or she could simply choose.

And so she did.

She didn’t even take the time to slip under the blankets. She simply slumped against the mountain of pillows and shut her eyes, timing her breaths with the ticking of the clock on the bedside table, still exactly where she’d left it. Everything still smelled like home.

Impossibly, inevitably, she slept.

*****

(now)

“Go on,” May said, and Daisy glanced back at her, hesitant. “I’ll watch the door.”

The corridors of Memorial Hall were dark and silent. May had figured out ways to bypass any of the security codes that she didn’t have access to, and they’d been able to make do with the singular bright beam that May’s flashlight cast. But now that they’d reached the main foyer, the city lights shone through the vast planes of glass that stood tall and graceful around the winding granite wall of the memorial. May switched her flashlight off with a click that echoed through the stretched hallway.

“It’s beautiful,” Daisy whispered, and May nodded in agreement.

It really was. The wall curved from end to end, the shine of the stone catching little stars from the street lamps. The inscriptions were too far away to read, but Daisy could see the etchings, tiny canyons shaped like the names of people who used to be alive.

Lincoln’s name was on that wall.

“May, I don’t think I can do this alone.”

May blinked in surprise. She’d expected a lot of things – tears, anger, both – but she hadn’t been expecting Daisy to turn to her the way she was now.

She looked older than May had ever seen her. And May knew far too much to believe it was just a trick of the light.

“Okay,” was all May said, and together they stepped into the towering glass cavern.

It didn’t take them long to find Lincoln’s inscription.

“He wouldn’t have thought he deserved this,” Daisy whispered, the threat of tears carving up the edges of her voice. “But he did. He does.”

Tiny gold stars, dug into the stone about an inch across, lined the top of the memorial, woven together into constellations. Above them a set of words was carved in a matching metallic hue.

_'Everything remains in some way, if not always in the same way. The journey is not from beginning to end, but rather from star to star.'_

Daisy read it silently to herself, wishing she could reach up and run her finger across the words.

“I like that,” Daisy said softly, and May followed her gaze.

“I’m glad,” May answered. “I’m the one who suggested they use it.”

Daisy's brow twitched in surprise. “I didn’t know you were into astronomy.”

“Not astronomy, exactly,” May said. “It’s from a book my father gave me when I was 10. He was teaching me about the Law of Conservation of Mass.”

“The principle that nothing, no matter, can ever be created or destroyed,” Daisy continued, and May nodded in approval.

“Exactly,” May said. “I didn’t understand it all that well back then. But you get older and you learn it’s true. Nothing is ever created or destroyed. It just changes.”

“But it doesn’t mean good things all the time.” Daisy thought of Lincoln, as she often did; she thought of how he might have looked in his final moments, of what she might have been able to see in his eyes if she’d been there on that jet with him. Would death have felt like nothing even with him beside her? Would nonexistence have been as lonely? Could you be lonely after you died?

“No,” May agreed. “It doesn’t.”

She could never prove her musings right or wrong. She could never take back any of the hurt she’d caused herself, or others; there wasn’t a way to bring Lincoln home from the dead. Things came and went, and nobody could ever bring them back in reverse. But some things persisted. She could persist.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat felt blocked; it was every tear she’d ever shut away, every punch and kick she’d directed into her own bones, and every brave face she’d ever put on condensed down into one tiny nuclear moment. She could persist. Or she could shake herself apart. It would only be too easy.

But it wouldn’t be easy. Because she wanted to persist. She wanted to grow back, even if she grew back different.

May, in her speechless way that always spoke louder than her words themselves, gripped Daisy’s hand tightly. Daisy knew it was at once a gesture of comfort and a signal; May was telling her, ‘If you slip, if you fall, I’ll be here to catch you.’

They all would, Daisy realized again as she felt the nearly weightless silvery pendant nestle against her neck. And it was a good thing too. Because she couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t fall. Not even after all this time.

But here, for now, she could stand.

Daisy had expected to look up at this towering stone memorial and think only of loss and how to honor it.

Instead she thought of the energy still coursing through her veins, energy that had always been inside of her; it was the energy she cast out in shockwaves each time she used her powers, and she thought of how it had always been there – in the strikes and blocks May had tutored her in so tirelessly, in the precisely choreographed dance of her fingers across a keyboard, and in the rhythm of her feet tapping against the pavement in a run, a little girl only under the illusion that she was all alone in the world. She thought of how it would always be a part of her, a fingerprint she left on the earth, and it would always be a part of everything around her; even long after she was gone, she’d remain.

It was worth it to remain.

_Nothing is ever created or destroyed. Only changed._


End file.
